Hydrangea Resilience

At the beginning of July,
the ultramarine blue hydrangeas
were like a finale
of bursting fireworks,
their blooms reaching
on strong stems,
noble and uplifted,
splashing their joy
all over the scene.
But then,
in a hundred degree heat,
they wilted,
collapsing at the neck,
emptied of their will to survive.
They looked irredeemable, defeated,
and drained of the vibrancy
of their color,
like their glory
was only for a moment
all too fleeting.
Their heads abruptly keeled over,
their petals collapsed,
and they turned in on themselves
in their downfall.
I was sad their
vigorous beauty
was so short lived.

But then,
the next morning,
after looking so very devastated
the day before, there they were,
standing proudly erect,
celebrating the new day,
whatever it may bring,
like they’d never
had a care in the world,
and no memory of anything
trying to thwart them.
I was cheered
and relieved to see it,
applauding their ability to revive.

But that day got up to
one hundred degrees too,
and down they flopped again,
zapped and woefully bedraggled,
once again overwhelmed
by forces beyond them.
This happened for days,
like a pendulum,
swinging in a full arc,
alternating between
grievously and abjectly wilted
to gloriously vivacious and robust,
over and over and over.
Then a massive thunderstorm came,
breaking the heat, but not the
indefatigable hydrangea.

We went out
and cut an armload full
and brought them in,
putting them in a vase
and wanting to keep them closer
where we could rejoice over
their indomitable
spirit of tenacity,
and place that up on an alter
in order to worship
their resilience,
hoping it would rub off on us,
as we earnestly prayed
to model it as our own.

by Polly Castor
7/6/26

I took the photo below on July 1, and after repeated collapse (often looking wose than that), we cut the bouquet (shown above) of the same flowers, magnificent, on the morning of July 5 for church.